


A Good Day

by emungere



Series: Ladders [16]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Drawing, Face-Fucking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:03:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8015101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will heaved himself from the wheelchair onto the bed and flopped down across it. “I am never buying silverware with you again.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [美好一日](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15275082) by [Lisimo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisimo/pseuds/Lisimo)



> Thanks very much to [Makenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makenna) for the beta!

Will heaved himself from the wheelchair onto the bed and flopped down across it. “I am never buying silverware with you again.”

“I think we may reasonably hope to use what we’ve just bought for some time.” Hannibal lit the fire and knelt in front of it, feeding it thin, dry strips of kindling. 

“No. I mean it. Not ever again. If we need more someday, you’re doing it alone.”

“You can’t be surprised that I would put some effort into choosing it. We will use it every day, at every meal. The appearance is important and so is the feel. The weight and balance of it in the hand.”

“I get that. I do. But you must’ve fondled a hundred forks today. And every single spoon in that last set.” Will stretched his arms over his head and let them hang over the side of the mattress. “There were so many spoons.” 

“It’s done now.” Hannibal sat beside him. Will’s shirt had pulled up with his stretch and Hannibal pushed it up further to bare his stomach. He ran one finger from Will’s navel up to the bottom of his breast bone and then retraced the line with his nail, leaving a faint red mark. 

Will watched him. “You want me to take it off?”

“If you would. Your trousers too.” 

“Any particular reason?”

“A very particular one, yes.” 

Will peeled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. The pants took more time. He’d had to sacrifice a couple pairs to the casts and slit them up the back. It was that or wear sweatpants all the time, which made him feel like he was going out in his pajamas. It still took some work to get them off over the bulk of the casts. Just a few more weeks. He couldn’t wait. 

When the pants hit the floor as well, Hannibal got up and put everything into the laundry hamper next to the door. He came back and rested his hands at Will’s waist. 

“Underwear too?” Will said. 

“Yes.” 

Will lifted his hips and let Hannibal slide his boxers off. They disappeared into the hamper too. Will crossed his arms behind his head. “Now what?”

Hannibal looked him over and laid a hand on the inside of his thigh. He moved it slowly upward. “I thought I might draw you,” he said. 

Will fought down a smile. “Getting me naked under false pretenses. I don’t know if I should let you.”

“But you will.”

“Maybe. Feed the dogs first. I’ll think about it.” 

“As you wish.” 

He left the room, and Will lay still on the bed, feeling warm and pleased and comfortable as he listened to Hannibal’s footsteps and the skittering of paws on wood. He closed his eyes and stretched long, back arching off the bed before he settled down again. He heard Hannibal running water to refill the dogs’ dishes, the low murmur of his voice as he chastised Wig for jumping up against his ankles. The sink came back on. Probably Hannibal washing their new silverware so they could use it at dinner. Will drifted, content to wait.

A hand on his knee roused him. He blinked his eyes open. There was Hannibal with a sketchbook and pencils. “How do you want me?” Will said. 

“On your side, please. Face toward the fire. Make yourself comfortable.” 

Will stretched out on his side and got a pillow to stick under his head. He drew one knee up and laid his hand on his thigh. “Okay?”

“Very much so, yes.” 

Will listened to the crackle of the fire and the scratch of Hannibal’s pencil on the paper. He watched the flames. Winston and Wig trotted in after a while and flopped down on the floor at Hannibal’s feet. Will yawned and closed his eyes. He thought Hannibal would say something, but he just kept drawing. He must have known Will’s eyes well enough to draw them without a reference. 

Will would’ve thought Hannibal knew his entire body that well by now. That made him shift a little and press his thighs together, feeling the memory of Hannibal’s touch on his skin. 

“Getting restless?” Hannibal said. 

“No. I’m good. Take your time.” 

But he was thinking about it now, and he didn’t try to stop. He remembered Hannibal letting him push him down on the bed and sit astride his chest and press into his mouth. His cock started to thicken.

“Will. Please do try not to move.” Hannibal’s voice was amused. 

“Trying,” Will said, suppressing a smile. “Can’t seem to help it.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m almost finished. At some point, I’m going to do a study of your erect cock.” He reached out and ran the smooth end of his pencil along the shaft of Will’s dick. 

It felt way too good. Will rolled onto his back and let his legs fall open. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll take my time about it. You’ll have to be patient.” 

Hannibal ran the pencil up and down, over the head and all the way to the base.  Will pressed his hips down into the mattress and then let them tip up. “But not today,” he said. 

“No. Not today. I think you’ve been patient enough today.” 

Will reached for him, and Hannibal let himself be drawn down into a kiss. His mouth was warm, lips very soft against Will’s. The slide of his tongue made Will remember their conversation a few weeks earlier. 

_You could not ask next time. Position me as you like. Kneel above me. Press your cock against my mouth._ The memory made him harder. He could almost feel Hannibal’s mouth and throat squeezing around him. 

“Is there something you want?” Hannibal said. He was nuzzling along Will’s jaw, pressing tongue and teeth into his skin. 

Will decided to take him at his word. He sat up. When he set his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders and pressed, Hannibal slid easily to the floor. He looked up at Will with bright eyes, lips parted and pink from the friction of Will’s beard. Will’s cock jerked. He hooked a hand behind Hannibal’s neck to kiss him hard. He closed his teeth over Hannibal’s lower lip and tugged at it. Hannibal leaned into it, pliant, holding onto Will’s hip and upper arm. 

The bed creaked as Will shifted to sit on the edge. He spread his legs and pulled Hannibal closer with one hand in his hair. Hannibal shuffled in on his knees and looked up at him. His eyes were very wide, like the sight of Will was somehow miraculous, something he wanted to drink in and remember forever. 

His hair slid between Will’s fingers, warm from sitting in front of the fire for so long. Will slid his thumbs over his cheeks and felt heat there too. He was lightly flushed, either from the heat or arousal. His cock was an obvious bulge in his pants. 

“You really like this,” Will said. 

“Yes,” Hannibal answered, voice low and filled with want. 

Will pressed a thumb over his lower lip and into his mouth. Hannibal sucked at it, hot and wet. His eyes sank half closed. It was a struggle not to just push into his mouth and fuck. It would feel so good. 

“Why?” Will asked. 

Hannibal blinked slowly up at him. His tongue dragged over the pad of Will’s thumb as Will pulled it out of his mouth. “It’s an engaging experience,” he said. The words came out slow and thick, a pause between each one, and his voice had dropped still lower. “The smell. The taste. Your hands. Your control.”

“My control. You like that?” The wet shine of Hannibal’s mouth was hard to look away from. 

“Do you need me to answer that?”

“I don’t need you to do anything. You can go start dinner if you want to.” 

Hannibal looked up at him through his lashes. “I’ve said as much, haven’t I?” 

“Have you? Not sure I remember. I might need to hear it again.” 

“I would prefer to be the object of your lack of control,” Hannibal murmured. “But I do enjoy your control as well, yes.” 

Will took a fistful of Hannibal’s hair in hand and his cock in the other. He pressed the head against Hannibal’s lips. It slid in. He kept going until he could see Hannibal struggling with it and then he pushed a little harder. He felt the head slide into Hannibal’s throat, the gripping heat, the vibration of Hannibal’s almost inaudible moan. 

He wanted to plant his feet on the floor and thrust. Instead, he used his grip on Hannibal’s hair to push him back and pull him close again, feeling the tight ring of his lips and the glide of his tongue. He pulled Hannibal close and held him there. 

Hannibal’s fingers dug into Will’s thighs. Will could hear his labored breath through his nose in hot hard puffs. Will pushed him off. “Get on the bed. On your back. So I can do this right.” 

Hannibal didn’t even take off his shoes. He crawled onto the bed and laid himself out flat. Waiting. His lips were wet and parted. Will knelt beside him for a second and palmed the bulge of his cock through his pants. Hannibal’s mouth opened wider. He looked up at Will with fixed attention. 

“We were going to talk about this when I got back,” Will said. 

Hannibal nodded once, a bare dip of his chin. 

“What exactly do you want? I know it’s not just my dick in your mouth.”

“I’ve told you,” Hannibal said. 

“My lack of control. That’s not very specific.” 

“I want what you want to give me, whatever that may be.”

Will looked down at him, the rumpled clothes and hair, the faint flush, the wide eyes. He should’ve looked vulnerable, but to Will he always seemed the strongest when he was like this, wide open, all his power on display. 

“Do you want me to hurt you?” Will asked. 

“Do you want to hurt me?” 

“Sometimes. Not as often anymore.” 

“Perhaps I should’ve asked sooner.” 

Will didn’t roll his eyes, but it was an effort. He swung a leg over Hannibal’s chest instead and sat astride him. Hannibal curled both hands over his ass. Will’s cock was still wet from his mouth and he rubbed it across Hannibal’s lips and chin before he pushed in again. 

One hand on the headboard and one in Hannibal’s hair, he pressed forward until he could feel the tight grip of Hannibal’s throat. And then he stayed there, counting in his head, feeling Hannibal’s body struggle to take him. The grip on his ass grew tighter, bruising. Hannibal’s eyes were dark. He didn’t struggle or make any sound or sign of protest. 

When Will pulled back, Hannibal breathed in with a gasp and lay still, panting. “What do you want out of this?” Will asked. 

“What do you want to do with me?” 

Will pressed two fingers against Hannibal’s lips and let him suck on them while he thought. What did he want to do with Hannibal? If he could do anything. Which he suspected he could. Hannibal had told him once that he’d hand him a knife and let him cut out his heart. Will didn’t want to go that far, but he did like pushing Hannibal. He always had. Just not physically. 

Will took Hannibal’s hair in a tight grip and held his head still so he couldn’t look away. “You told me once that you fantasized about sucking blood off my fingers. Is that still what you fantasize about?” 

A minute pause. “No,” Hannibal said. 

“Did you jerk off while I was gone?” 

“Yes.”

“Thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

“Thinking what exactly?” Hannibal’s eyes fluttered closed, and Will smacked his cheek. Not hard, but hard enough that the sound startled them both. Will swallowed, cock throbbing. He’d liked that more than he thought he would. “Eyes open,” he said. 

Hannibal looked up at him and stretched out his tongue to lick the tip of his cock. It bobbed, and a string of pre-come stretched downward to land against Hannibal’s shirt collar. Will stared at that, his flushed cock against pale blue cotton and gray buttons. He looked back up to Hannibal’s smug expression. 

“Was that an answer?” he said. 

“It was a partial answer.” Hannibal tilted his head to pull against Will’s grip. The involuntary tightening of Will’s hand seemed to please him. “I thought about many things. Including this.” 

“Getting a straight answer out of you is like pulling hen’s teeth, you know that? The first time you jerked off after I left, what were you thinking about?” 

Hannibal’s gaze slid off to the side. “You won’t like it.”

“It’s your fantasy, Hannibal. I don’t need to like it.” 

“It was after he hurt you. I imagined keeping you in bed all day. Or for longer. Perhaps the entire time you were healing.” 

“Not very practical. Or very likely.”

“Fantasies typically aren’t.” 

“What else?” Will said. “What were you planning to do with me while I was stuck in bed for weeks?” 

Hannibal’s throat worked briefly, tendons sharp under his skin. He shifted against the bed. “I fed you by hand. Washed you. Held you.”

“And I just let you do all this?” 

Hannibal looked down. “You let me. You enjoyed it.” 

That was the crux of it, the fulcrum of the fantasy. Not trapping him in bed against his will, but the idea that he would stay, that he’d want to stay. That he wanted what Hannibal had to give. Will could see it in the restless movement of Hannibal’s head and the press of his shoulders into the mattress, in the refusal to meet Will’s eyes. 

“Is that something you’d want to do in real life?” he asked. 

Hannibal blinked slowly up at him. “Would you?” 

“Not for weeks, but I’d consider it. What else? There must’ve been more. I have a hard time believing you jerked off thinking about feeding me grapes.” 

“Do you? I think I’d find it quite easy. But no, that wasn’t all. You held me down like this. Or turned me over. There was an element of — utility, I suppose. I was of use to you. Practically and sexually.” 

“And you enjoyed that.” 

“Yes. I did.” 

“The way you’re enjoying being of use to me now?” 

Hannibal shifted under him, and his tongue flicked across his lower lip. It left a wet shine behind. “Yes. Perhaps I should’ve known you’d choose to dissect me this way rather than hurt me physically. It suits your temperament. And your appetite.” 

“What appetite is that?” Will asked. He was still looking at Hannibal’s mouth. His cock was harder than ever. 

“A curious sort of cruelty. The clean cut of the vivisectionist. Pain is your byproduct, not your goal.” 

Will shifted back and bent to kiss him. He bit at his lower lip and held tight to his hair. “Only with you, I promise.” He looked down at Hannibal, the mess of his hair and the bruised shade of his mouth and his wrinkled shirt, collar gaping open. “God. I want to eat you alive.” 

Hannibal’s breath came out in a hard stutter. His eyes snapped closed. 

Will pulled his collar aside, pulled until the buttons of his shirt gave and popped and bared half his chest. He leaned down and set his teeth in Hannibal’s skin at the ball of his shoulder, the same place where Hannibal had once bitten him. His teeth pushed into soft warmth. He bit down hard. And harder. 

Hannibal arched under him as he broke the skin and tasted blood. Will raised his head to look at him. They were both panting, both hard. 

“Will—“ Hannibal reached for him, and Will pressed down on top of him. 

He yanked Hannibal’s pants open and pulled fabric aside until he got his cock free. They moved together, skin to skin and mouth to mouth. Hannibal licked over the edge of Will’s teeth and let out a low, shuddering groan. 

Will got a hand around their cocks. He stroked them both and pressed his other hand over the bite mark. Hannibal’s thighs parted and squeezed around him. Hot, moist breath washed over his lips and cheek. Hannibal clutched him close with both hands and came first, body rigid and shaking. Will kept stroking him, and the sticky-slick feel of his come and his low desperate sounds brought him off seconds later. 

When the haze cleared and he could see more than Hannibal’s dark eyes and red lips, he focused on his shoulder, the bite mark, the smudges of blood. 

“Do not apologize,” Hannibal said, so low and rough that it made Will’s stomach heat with residual arousal. 

“Wasn’t going to. You didn’t.” A thin line of blood had welled up. He touched it and came away with the tip of his finger bright red. He licked it clean. 

Hannibal rolled him over and pressed him into the bed, spread out over him, weighing him down with his whole body. He kissed Will’s neck, open-mouthed and oddly reverent. 

“Does it hurt?” Will asked. 

“Do you want it to?”

“Hannibal.” 

“Yes. Not badly. It’s likely I feel it less keenly than you did.” 

“You didn’t break the skin,” Will said. 

Hannibal raised his head and kissed him softly on the mouth. “You can break any part of me you like.” 

Can, not may. Statement of fact, not permission. “This is plenty for me,” Will said. Hannibal settled down with his head on Will’s chest. Will slid his hands up under the rumpled cotton of his shirt. “Sorry about your buttons. I can sew them back on.” 

“Leave them. I have many shirts. I’d prefer to keep this one as it is.” 

“Sap,” Will said in his ear. 

Hannibal only gathered him closer and closed his eyes. Neither of them made any attempt to clean up. That was going to be unpleasant later, but right now it didn’t seem important enough to move.

*

Will was alone and clean when he woke up. Wig lay curled in the crook of his neck, tiny head on his shoulder. Hannibal must have put her there. She was still too small to make the jump by herself. Winston was looking soulfully up at him from the floor. 

Will reached down to scratch his ears. “Hey, buddy. I know. It’s not fair.” 

He checked the time: just after seven, which explained the scents and sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen. He pulled on the pajamas that had been left at the end of the bed. The dogs followed him and complicated the sharp turn from the temporary bedroom into the hallway. He nearly rolled the wheelchair over Winston’s tail. 

When he made it into the kitchen, Hannibal stooped to kiss him. “Is there something in particular you would like for dinner?”

“You’re already cooking.” 

“I’m making French onion soup. It will keep if there’s something else you would prefer.” 

“Do I just get everything I want today?” 

Hannibal looked down at him for a second, warmth in his eyes. He was still wearing the shirt with the missing buttons. “Yes,” he said. 

For a second, Will considered the Kraft Mac and Cheese he’d brought back with him from DC, but that seemed cruel. “Will you make that goat cheese tart again? And we could have it with the soup?” 

“Of course. Will you help?” 

“Sure. What am I doing?” 

Hannibal gave him butter to cut into the flour for the tart shell while he started on the filling. The rock of the pastry cutter against the sides of the bowl produced a soft, rhythmic tick, muffled by flour. It mixed with the sizzle of the onions and the click of the dogs’ nails on the floor and the wind outside to form a soundtrack that Will was suddenly sure would stay with him forever. 

Hannibal’s movements around the kitchen were punctuated by the beat of the rain, the ringing of his metal spatula against the sides of the pan. Will watched him, cutting butter blindly, until Hannibal looked his way. 

“What is it?” 

“How’s your shoulder?” Will asked. 

Hannibal pulled his shirt aside to show the white square of gauze taped in place. “Do you want to see it?” 

Will nodded. Hannibal went down on one knee next to the wheelchair and peeled aside the bandage. The wound was coated in a glaze of antibiotic cream, but Will could still see the red marks of his teeth. “Can’t believe I did that.” 

“I can.” Hannibal looked up at him with shining eyes. 

Will taped him back up. “Go stir your onions.” 

One corner of Hannibal’s mouth curved up. “Yes, Will. As you prefer.” 

*

The salad had figs and foie gras on it and a garnish of braided thyme stems. Hannibal brought Will’s plate to the table first and stood while he took a bite. His expression at Will’s pleased noise wasn’t quite a smile, but a softening toward contentment. 

“What happened to all the bird skulls and stuff you used to put on your plates in Baltimore?” Will asked when they’d moved on to the soup. 

“I imagine they are in an FBI evidence room somewhere. Perhaps they will become an exhibit in Jack’s Evil Minds museum.” He looked pleased at the idea. 

“Yeah, thanks. I don’t mean literally what happened to them.” 

“You mean why don’t I do that here.”

Will nodded, mouth full of melted cheese and the dark earthy taste of caramelized onions. 

Hannibal pushed his spoon through the slice of toast covering his bowl of soup and paused. “I found it amusing there. A memento mori to accompany dinner. Providing the feast that sustains life while reminding my guests that nothing lasts forever.” 

“You’re not amused by it anymore?” 

“The reminder is unnecessary.” He met Will’s eyes. “I have become intimately aware of the march of time.” 

“I don’t think either of us are about to kick the bucket,” Will said. 

“Do you miss them? I plan to cook the snails at the end of the month, once we have moved the rest of our things here and given up the rented house. Perhaps I will save the shells.” 

“Not on my account,” Will said. “I was just wondering.” 

When Hannibal brought out the goat cheese tart, it was still warm from the oven. He had placed two curved bunches of red currants in the center, like the impression of teeth on pale skin. Hannibal cut into it, and Will almost expected it to bleed. 

Hannibal placed each slice on a plate and paused. He pulled one currant from the bunch in the center. “May I?”

Will eyed him. “May you what?” 

Hannibal held the currant against Will’s lower lip. Will opened his mouth and took it. He could feel himself flush as he chewed purely from the intensity of Hannibal’s gaze. 

Hannibal brushed his thumb down the length of Will’s throat. “Thank you.” 

He served the slices of tart and sat down to eat. 

*

After dinner, Will settled onto the couch with a sigh. Hannibal had made them both Irish coffee again, without the whipped cream this time. With the warmth spreading inside him and his feet propped up, Will leaned against Hannibal’s side. 

“So do I get to see the drawing now?”

“If you like.” Hannibal looked down at him. “If I move, will you capsize?” 

Will punched his thigh gently and sat up. “Go.” 

Hannibal retrieved the sketchbook. The drawing showed Will stretched out on the foot of the bed, firelight on his skin, but it was a less romanticized image than Will had expected. His face was rendered so precisely that he could remember, looking at it, just how he had felt watching Hannibal put him down on paper. He’d been uncomfortable at being the object of such close study, but he’d liked it too, liked Hannibal’s attention as he always did. One corner of his mouth was drawn up in a faint smirk, but his eyes were soft and fond, watching Hannibal as he drew. 

His body was just as true-to-life, from the scars to the bruise on his knee from an ill-fated climb onto the kitchen counter to the weight he’d gained from Hannibal’s cooking. He’d expected something softened through the lens of Hannibal’s emotion, but this was just him, as he was: lying on the bed with his casts awkwardly positioned, looking at Hannibal not with adoration but with affection and tolerance. 

Will sipped his coffee. “I thought you’d leave the casts out.” 

“Why? Do you think I find them ugly?” 

“Maybe not ugly. Awkward. Doesn’t really fit, does it? Nude with fiberglass casts?” 

“I prefer reality to fantasy.”

“You prefer to change reality to fit your fantasies.” 

Hannibal put an arm around him and rested his chin on the top of Will’s head. “True in most cases. But not with you. There is nothing unexpected in fantasy. You continue to surprise me every day.”

Will slumped down until he could tip his head back to look up at him. He studied Hannibal’s face. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“And why is that?” 

“You’re acting …” Will shook his head. Somewhere between lovesick and stoned. He’d blame it on the bite, on Hannibal finally getting something close to the level of violence he wanted from Will, but it’d started earlier than that.

“Perhaps I’ve simply had a good day.” 

Day. The slight emphasis Hannibal had put on the word made it ping around inside Will’s head looking for something to latch onto. It didn’t take long. “It’s the day we met. Two years ago. It’s—“ Will stopped.

“Our anniversary.” Hannibal said it with relish and a slight smile that showed the edges of his teeth. 

Will dropped his gaze to his coffee. Even counting from the first time they’d had sex instead of the day they’d met, he’d been with Hannibal longer than he’d been with anyone else in his life. He expected that to feel like a catastrophe, but it didn’t. “Two years."

"Yes. It’s gone quickly, don’t you think?”

“Except for the year you ditched me and ran away to France, yeah.” 

Hannibal kissed the top of his head. “It’s not unreasonable to assume that we will live another thirty or forty years. Will you still be hounding me about that when we are both old men?” 

“Maybe,” Will said. He wrapped both hands around his mug. “Forty years. I could spend half my life with you.”

“You could. I hope you will.” Hannibal picked up his book from the side table, opened it, and began to read.

Will watched the fire and drank his coffee. He paid attention to the weight of Hannibal’s arm around him, the heat of his body, the smooth cotton of his shirt and the way it felt against Will’s cheek. He tried to picture them like this, forty years from now. Maybe even in this house if they were lucky, on this sofa. Drinking coffee out of the same mugs. 

It made his chest ache, but it was a good feeling. He put his hand over it, above his breast bone, a few inches below his throat, to keep it there. “I hope so too,” he said. 

Hannibal didn’t answer, but he tightened his arm around Will’s shoulders and pulled him in closer.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](http://www.eleanorkos.com/) if you're interested.
> 
> [emungere.tumblr.com](http://emungere.tumblr.com)


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